


Take it Back

by Inactive_Account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adoption, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark Keith (Voltron), Depression, Drug-Induced Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Verse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Inactive_Account
Summary: Keith hated how the cadets looked at his brother.They looked at him the way every alpha looked at an omega: with lust. It angered him; all he wanted was to protect Shiro and protect his chastity, but he wanted him and understood why others wanted him . . . Keith would take what was owed. He would take Shiro and Shiro would enjoy being taken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 contains graphic rape. 
> 
> Chapters 2 - 3 do not contain depictions of rape.

# Take It Back

“Ah, Keith, you’re out late.”

Shiro gave a bright smile. It was beautiful to look upon; the way his eyes crinkled made them come alive, while the scar across his face tightened at the corners, and – with a slight tilt to his head – his eyes half-closed in that way so typically ‘Shiro’. The instructor uniform suited him well, with the dark greys complementing his skin tone and the shape accentuating his more muscular build, and Keith could see why the cadets admired his brother.

The corridor was bright, despite how late it was into the evening. There was a strict curfew for the cadets, enough that the labyrinth-like structure of the academy was practically deserted, but – with Shiro as one of the more lenient instructors – many students often took a risk in visiting his office for ‘advice’ or ‘extra-tuition’. Keith knew most used it as an excuse to simply not stay in their dormitories, or to ogle the ‘hot professor’, but his older sibling appeared completely oblivious to their intentions. He simply wore his goofy smile.

Shiro stood with his hand upon the doorknob; there were a few scars criss-crossed over his hand from the war, enough that Keith felt a tug of curiosity at how far the scars extended, and – as he caught Keith staring – he put his hands into his pocket with a slight blush. It was easy to forget how sensitive Shiro was about his appearance, as well as easy to forget how he could be triggered in moments to flashbacks with the most seemingly trivial actions.

“I could get you some gloves,” said Keith.

There was a gentle laugh from Shiro, who reached out to Keith. He gripped his shoulder with a firm – yet kind – grip, as he squeezed to provide him some form of reassurance and show a surge of affection for the younger man. Keith gave a small smile. These touches were something he cherished, a reminder that someone – out of everyone – still wanted him around, and he was always less alone with Shiro present. The laughter and gossip from further down the corridor brought him out of his trance, grounding him in the moment.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Keith,” replied Shiro. “I’m okay, though.”

“Are you, Shiro? Since the Voltron Alliance, you’ve been . . . different.” Keith folded his arms and gave a soft pout. “I waited _over a year_ for you to come back. I never believed you were dead, even when the world told me you were gone. I fought alongside you, Shiro! I just – I want things to go back to how they were, as brothers . . . now you’re with Matt and –”

“He’s my Alpha, it’s natural I would want to spend time with him. That doesn’t mean I no longer love you, just that you have to . . . share me. Look, we’re meeting Pidge tomorrow for a family dinner at the Holts. Why don’t you join us? It’ll be good quality time.”

“That’s not the point, Shiro. I want some time _alone_ with –”

‘ _Yo, Shiro! What’s up?’_

They turned to face the intruders. There – practically running down the corridor – came Lance and Hunk, who bore bright expressions, as they came to a skidding halt just beside the two of them. Lance was dressed in his civilian clothes, even as he stood in a casual manner before what was now their instructor. He clasped his hands behind his head, while he stood with legs slightly apart and eyes focussed directly upon Shiro, and – as Keith clenched his hands into tight fists – he saw a slight movement of Lance’s eyes. He was checking Shiro out.

Hunk stood to the side with his index fingers touching one another, as he hunched over and gave a slight shy expression, and there was a flush to his dark cheeks. The two cadets seemed unsure of themselves, although Lance reeked of his usual confidence, and Keith – with a glare in the direction of his rival – quirked an eyebrow in expectation. It was an expression that garnered a glare and a pout from Lance, who took unkindly to being judged.

“Hey, Shiro, your brother’s staring at me,” said Lance.

“Yeah, and you’re starting at my brother, so we’re even,” spat Keith.

“You should see how the first years look at him,” teased Hunk. “Like, it reminds me of the first time I saw Shay. They’re all there, going about their day, and all of a sudden it’s all: ‘wow, my hero’! Hard to blame them, though. We did save the universe and all.”

“True, pal! True!” Lance leaned on Hunk’s shoulder with a grin. “You’re just jealous, because Shiro gave me a better grade than you. I can’t help it. _This_ pilot got better practise when we were in the field; while you were all combing your mullet and pouting by the princess, some of us were – you know – busy being awesome! Speaking of sheer awesome, that’s why we came to see Shiro. We thought you might want to sneak out and –”

“Not today, gang,” interrupted Shiro.

The three cadets turned to look at him. Shiro had opened the door to his office, revealing a chaotic space that Shiro often referred to as ‘organised mess’, and – as he stood in the doorway – he leaned against the doorframe with his organic forearm. Lance looked at him with the same wide eyes as before, which caused Keith to dig his fingertips deeper into the palms of his hand with a hiss of breath. There was a stab of pain, as blood began to well from the small crescent marks on his skin, but none of the others appeared to notice.

“You know the rules, Lance,” said Shiro.

Lance gave a half-smirk, as his eyes moved over Shiro once more. It was infuriating how oblivious Shiro and Hunk seemed to be to the action, although Keith half-suspected the larger man to be sending glances in turn, and he wanted nothing more than to defend his brother. The appreciative gazes were too obvious. The way Lance leaned his body forward made it look as if he were invaded Shiro’s space, and his eyes gave a familiar twinkle as he asked:

“Will you tell on us, if we go out anyway?”

“Not so long as you make it back in time for classes,” teased Shiro.

There was a long laugh from Hunk, as he gave a wave of acknowledgement. The larger man gave a quick compliment on Shiro’s humour, before he shook his head and made his way for the hallway that led outside the building, and Lance – unwilling to be left behind, in a strange display of role-reversal from before the war – did a double-take and made to run after him. Lance was barely a few feet away when he half-turned around and shouted out:

“Done! Next time drinks are on you, though!”

Shiro gave a loud laugh and shook his head. He watched to make sure they were out of sight, before opening the office door and allowing them both inside. The office was filled with various boxes and stacks of paperwork, a testament to Shiro’s lingering fears and post-traumatic stress, as the older man feared unpacking lest something – or someone – come to take him away from his loved ones and current life. There was a layer of dust over the computer, while the typewriter nearby was in pristine condition.

They struggled to find space to sit down, so they stood instead against the desk. Keith spotted the coffee machine across the way, hidden between various folders and a stack of textbooks, and – as his heart began to race in a nervous manner – he tiptoed through the mess to turn on the machine. There were three mugs hanging from a rack on the wall, although Keith’s required wiping down to removed the dust. He tried not to seethe that Matt’s was clean.

“Your office is a mess,” observed Keith.

He placed his hands within his pockets. It would take time for the machine to work, which gave him an excuse to hide his hands with the gesture, and – as he sent glances over to Shiro – he noticed the photographs that lined the desk. There were a few of Matt and Pidge, along with a group shot with Lance and Hunk, and a few to the side that featured Keith through various stages of his life. Keith bit his lip until he tasted blood. The idea that Shiro could have pushed his photos to the side, to make room for others, felt like an insult.

“Hmm?” Shiro looked over. “Is it that bad?”

“I saw Lance’s dorm-room once,” said Keith. “This is worse.”

Shiro gave a long laugh, as he ran his hand over his face. He closed his eyes, as he shook his head with a self-aware smile, and Keith – using the opportunity while it existed – slipped his hand over Shiro’s cup and dropped a tablet into the porcelain. A second later, he placed the cup underneath the machine and pressed the button. The boiling water dissolved the pill and the coffee would disguise the taste. Keith handed the finished product to his brother.

He struggled to reach over, unable and unwilling to walk back through the maze of boxes, but Shiro was kind enough to reach over and meet his hand midway. The older man took the cup with a wide grin and blew the surface to cool the liquid; the way his lips pursed was deeply erotic, while the flush to his cheeks was beyond beautiful, and Keith – as he watched his Adam’s apple move with every swallow – found the sight oddly hypnotic. He licked his lips, as Keith lifted his cup to hide the gesture as one of thirst. Shiro asked kindly:

“So why are you breaking curfew?”

“I wanted to see you,” said Keith. “You’re going into heat soon, right? I overheard Iverson say you’ve booked the next week off, so I figured you’d be hiding out in your room. I could come visit you, couldn’t I? Family is immune to the pheromones, so –”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Shiro looked flushed and pupils dilated. “I’ll be in heat for three days, give or take, but I’m already in pre-heat. You’ve seen what heats do to people. The pre-heat should be just two days, while the extra two days at the end give me time to recover, but I’ll be a total mess that entire time. The second the heat kicks in -? Well, it’s humiliating, Keith. I don’t want to be seen like that. You weren’t there on Sendak’s ship.”

“I don’t need to have been there, Shiro! I’m not like the Galra; I don’t know what they did to you, but I know that I’d never hurt you like that. Do you see the way the students look at you? You need someone around to protect you. Lance was looking at you like a piece of meat. It makes me sick to know what they’re thinking . . . what they want to do to you.”

“Keith, I thought you better to buy into old stereotypes?” A sweat began to break out over Shiro’s forehead. “Alphas may be tempted, but they sure as hell can control themselves. It doesn’t matter in any case, as I know how to lock my door and air my room.”

“So you want to spend an entire week locked in a room alone?”

“Matt and I plan to chat on camera, I won’t be alone.”

Keith gripped his cup with a tight pressure. He felt his heart race, while he could hear how his pulse pounded within his ears, and he narrowed his eyes at his brother. Shiro had never been shy about his heats growing up; Keith remembered nights curled up beside him, as they watched movies and ate popcorn, just as he remembered mornings spent placing ice against his brother’s temples to calm and cool him in his delirious moments. Keith took a few swigs of his coffee and slammed the cup down onto a pile of paperwork, as he snapped:

“So you trust Matt to see you like that, but not me?”

He looked over to Shiro, where the drugs seemed to take effect. There was a deep flush to his skin, while he swayed even where he stood, and the rich scent that emanated from him – like cinnamon and old parchment – was enough to invoke a rut upon any unrelated alpha that spent too long in his company. The sweat upon his forehead rolled down his cheeks almost like tears, while his eyes were unfocussed and forced him to blink continuously to clear his vision, and yet this would be more intense than any usual heat. Keith gave a long sigh.

There was a chance Shiro would not remember anything. Keith carefully made his way over to his brother and carefully reached out to him, to press the back of his hand against his forehead, where he felt a familiar burn. The way that Shiro simply let him, unmoving and almost unaware of being touched, was a great reassurance. If he remembered anything of this heat, it would be like a dream or a fog, enough that he wouldn’t believe it real.

“I thought this was just your pre-heat?” Keith asked.

“I – I’m not due – I didn’t feel –”

“You must have miscalculated.” Keith gave a dangerous smile. “You were probably in pre-heat for a while, too, just must have missed the symptoms from stress. Why don’t you let me take you back to your room? I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk alone.”

Shiro tried to object, but soon fell forward. Keith caught him in a quick movement, hooking the older man’s arm over his shoulder, while angling his body to better brace himself to bear what was quite a large weight. It was no wonder Shiro hated gender stereotypes: he was the antithesis to everything an omega was supposed to become. Shiro nuzzled against Keith’s neck, with a murmur of gratitude, before Keith helped him toward the door and slid the office key out of his pocket. There was a low and slurred whisper of:

“O-Okay . . . room . . .”

They struggled to the office door. It took all of Keith’s strength and skill to manoeuvre his brother outside, as well as to lock the door against intruders, without dropping the older man in the process. He hoped and prayed no one would see them, lest Iverson – a beta with a surprising conscience – escort Shiro himself and send Keith to bed, but the corridors appeared to be deserted and the only sounds were of distant laughter from the instructors.

It took approximately ten minutes to reach Shiro’s rooms; they were located within a separate part of the Garrison, where most instructors without families kept residence, and it took a password to get inside. Keith remembered the password by heart. It was a good piece of fortune, as Shiro was too incoherent to possibly understand, and soon – as they stumbled through that initial door – Keith led his brother over to the appropriate room and unlocked it with a spare key kept within his right pocket. The door opened with a soft click.

He led Shiro to the bed and threw him against the covers. Shiro landed with a soft bounce, where he crawled up to the pillows and sprawled out upon his back, and – as he spread his legs out of instinct – he gave a low moan that usually only came the second or third day into a heat. Keith swore and locked the door behind him, as he flicked on a light and looked around at the messy nature of the room, which was as covered with boxes as the office.

“Shiro? Hey, Shiro?”

Shiro gave no sign of acknowledgment. The older man was starting to writhe and arch his back, already in the throes of a full-blown heat, and these were symptoms that usually only developed on the final few days of the heat itself. It was difficult to watch. Keith felt himself harden despite their relation; it was proof that the attraction was more than just ‘biology’, as – sweet as the pheromones were – they did not induce a rut or make cognition a struggle. The question why Matt hadn’t mated Shiro yet was heavy in the air, along with the scent of sex.

He made his way to the side of the bed, where he began to strip Shiro. It wasn’t anything unusual; Keith had helped Shiro change during his heat in the past, where he would peel off wet clothes and wipe him down with a cool cloth, but this was something different. Keith was able to observe every inch of skin, along with every single scar, and his fingertips – just as curious as his eyes – were able to linger and explore freely without objection.

“You’ll enjoy this, Shiro,” whispered Keith. “I know what you need.”

Keith carefully folded the instructor uniform. He placed it upon a nearby chair, where Shiro might fool himself into thinking he has undressed himself, and he slowly climbed upon the bed between Shiro’s legs. The older man had clearly succumb to an enforced heat and the simultaneous effect of the drugs, as he looked totally unaware of Keith’s presence, with eyes torn between closed to the point of pain and unfocussed upon random spots.

There was a flush across his chest, so his skin looked more red than its usual light brown, and his eyes were so dilated that Keith could see only the blown pupils. The scars across his skin were many and mapped his traumas; there were raised and white lines along his back, while silvery and dark lines marked his limbs, and his chest – free save for some patches of discoloured or wrinkled skin – was as taut and toned as ever. Keith admired how much muscle made up his brother’s body, as he fought back at urge to plough into him.

He could see how aroused Shiro had become. The erection was relatively thin, but long enough that pre-come began to build within his bellybutton. It was a beautiful length. It leaned slightly to his right; his pre-come came out in small spurts, as opposed to beads of liquid, and there was a thick vein running along the underside that stopped only when it reached the flared head of an uncut cock. Keith wondered how it would taste.

“Hey, Shiro, I need you to talk to me.”

There was a long and incoherent moan from Shiro. Keith smirked and shook his head, reassured that there was no way his brother would remember this, and – as his hands worked on freeing his member from the confines of his trousers – he leaned down to lick Shiro’s waiting erection with a long brush of his tongue. The reaction was instantaneous. Shiro bucked upright and gave a loud cry of pleasure, before he arched his back to breaking point and began to tear and claw at the sheets. Keith laughed and took his length whole.

The taste was unlike the pre-come of any other man; Keith had tasted his own, along with perhaps one or two cadets since being readmitted to the Garrison, but this was nothing like a beta or an alpha. This was sweet. There was a lingering after-taste, which made his mouth water like crazy, but the taste was something like summer fruits and chocolate, although he half-suspected those ‘tastes’ were borne out of associations from his mind.

“M-Matt,” murmured Shiro. “Matt.”

A possessive sense of jealousy surged through Keith. He gave an instinctual growl, one that came from the back of his throat and caused Shiro to spread his legs as wide as possible, and – unable to hold back his anger – scraped his teeth alongside the length. Shiro shouted out in pain, as tears streamed down his face and wetted the pillow. The erection did not flag. Keith began to work his tongue through the slit and just under the head, as if in apology, as he soon worked out that Shiro appeared to most enjoy the head being stimulated above all else.

“Matt, please, m-more,” begged Shiro.

Keith pushed his first two fingers into Shiro’s hole. The older man keened and purred, thrusting down out of instinct, and – beyond anything Keith expected – Shiro was _soaking_ wet below to the point he realised why heats dehydrated omegas so much. The hole would not need any stretching, already so loose and wide, almost like what he expected an aroused vagina to feel like in comparison, and he could feel every natural ridge inside. It was hot, as well as erotic, and it gave out a scent far stronger than the pheromones.

He wanted to taste, but – without warning – Shiro came. The come flooded his mouth, forcing him to pull back despite his lack of a gag-reflex, and he barely was able to swallow it all down as Shiro gave out an ear-piercing scream. It tasted okay, although slightly bitter and more like alpha and beta come, and Keith had to wipe his mouth to rid himself of stray trails and winced at the after-taste. He no longer felt a desire to taste his fingers.

“You guys don’t have a refractory period, right?” Keith asked.

“K-Keith . . . is that – I feel – _oh God, I need to_ –”

“Shit! Close your eyes, Shiro. Close them.”

Shiro obeyed. Those eyes scrunched closed, and Keith – waiting to be sure that the drug was still in effect – felt his heart began to race in nervous fear. The erection was still hard, likely only to come a little and dry-come after that, but he knew he would be unable to stay for the many hours to watch Shiro dry-come continuously until he would faint from exhaustion. It was a strong temptation, but even to knot Shiro would be too much a risk. Keith needed to orgasm and then get out, before the drugs wore off and Shiro would become too aware.

“Keep your eyes closed, Takashi,” ordered Keith.

There was no sign that Shiro heard, let alone understood, but his eyes stayed closed. Keith – cursing the need to stay clothed – scooted towards his brother and aimed his erection with a free hand, before slowly sliding inside to the very hilt. It was Keith’s turn to cry out. The hole was loose, true, but it was firm enough to provide a solid grip around his length, and the sheer heat that it gave off became an ecstasy in itself. He wanted more. He needed more.

Keith began to thrust in earnest, going as hard and fast as possible. He wanted Shiro to feel it in the following days, perhaps blaming himself for being too rough with his hands or with his toys, while Keith would watch the little limp and know the truth. Those inner walls clenched around his length, providing delicious friction and some small resistance, and he knew – never having been inside another before – he would come sooner rather than later. Already, he could feel his orgasm building to its peak. The pleasure was unbearable.

There was a knock upon the door. A voice of concern.

Keith succumbed to his panic, but the rush of adrenaline only added to his pleasure. He bit his lip to force back a scream of orgasmic rapture, tasting blood upon his lips, as he thrust deep enough to almost knot his brother. Keith pulled back at the last second, as his softening member spewed out a few last ropes of come over his brother’s buttocks, and – as toes curled and eyes rolled back – he felt the feeling of absolute bliss course through him. He nearly collapsed beside his brother, tempted to cuddle up beside him for warmth.

“Shiro, are you okay?” called the voice. “I’m starting to get worried.”

“He’s fine,” called Keith. “I’m just putting him to bed!”

Keith pulled out with a curse. He wiped off the come from Shiro’s buttocks, no time to wipe out the come from inside him, and he whispered a command for Shiro not to push it out, lest someone see the damage done. There were no bruises on his brother, which was something, and so Keith tucked away his member and smoothed back his hair. It took him only a few seconds to wrench the sheets and covers from the foot of the bed up to Shiro’s chest, where he purposely tightened them to hide everything except arms and head from view.

He practically ran to the door, as he glanced a look into a dirty mirror pinned to an opposing room above a small sink, and – with a small curse – wiped his hand across his lip to hide the drop of come that may have given him away. The key was still inside the lock, enabling him to quickly open the door to reveal a familiar face: Matt. It was enough to ruin Keith’s afterglow, as he let his nostrils flare and narrowed his gaze at the intruder.

“Can I help you?” Keith asked.

“Shiro wasn’t in his office,” said Matt with a frown. “I was supposed to meet him. Is he okay? He’s not supposed to be in heat until the day after tomorrow, but I can smell . . . well . . . _you know_. Do you think I ought to call one of the omega medics?”

“He’s fine. You aren’t his mate yet, are you? Let him rest.”

“I – I wasn’t – I wasn’t going to take _advantage_!”

Keith looked Matt up and down. There was a blush to his cheeks, while his eyes were dilated, and he saw well the tent to his trousers that were rather strained. He was just like every other alpha in the Garrison, who wanted nothing more than to fuck-and-run, and Keith gritted his teeth hard enough he feared one might crack. Matt was no good for his brother. Keith slammed the door shut behind him, before he locked the door and slid the key into his pocket, as he leaned against the door with an opened hand and a small smirk.

“If you weren’t going to take advantage,” said Keith, “you can leave him alone.”

“Fine, I’ll follow you back to the dormitories,” snapped Matt.

It wasn’t the response that Keith expected, but it did keep the other man away from his brother. He forced a smile and endured the awkward silence. They walked together back to the cadet dormitories, where – with a curt nod of acknowledgement – they parted ways and went to their respective rooms. The second Keith entered his room, he took his member in hand and let the memories of his time with Shiro occupy his time.

He knew he would cherish those moments forever.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m telling you: check again!”

Shiro gripped the edge of the bed. The sheets were stiff and starchy, typical of the infirmary, and he hated the way they crinkled and creased every time he clenched his hands. There was a hideous stench of disinfectant in the air; it worked on his nausea, until his stomach rolled with painful spasms, and soon his throat began to clench with nervous retches. He stared down at the tiled floor, as he breathed deep and quickly, desperate to hold back the sickness.

It took all his strength to look up at Coran, who wore a sympathetic expression. The older man was dressed in his Altean attire, in the usual comforting blue-and-white, and that thick moustache of his moved with his nervous smile. He held the clipboard in the crook of his left arm, while his other was outstretched – as he half-bent his back – to rest on Shiro’s shoulder, and he said nothing in the wake of such a strong reaction. Shiro felt hot. Stifled. The civilian clothing was far too tight fitting and clung to his neck and stomach. He hated the sensations.

“The results are _wrong_ ,” he insisted.

Allura came to sit beside him. The young woman wore her hair loose about her back, so that those long waves fell to her waists, and her smile – so warm, so patient – emphasised the beauty of her dark features. The dress she wore marked her as someone ‘alien’, but she had earned a vast deal of respect during her stay at the Garrison, along with Coran, and the two – unfettered by the alpha/beta/omega dynamics – had forged themselves a strong reputation of providers of excellent medical knowledge and treatment. It was to be admired.

There came a touch upon his hand, as if she sought to comfort him. He noticed how clammy his skin had become, so that a sweat was broken over his body, and he realised that he was struggling to breathe, fighting back bad memories and worse associations. The harsh lights hung from the ceiling on low chains, swaying with a light breeze from an open window on the far side of the room, and the moving shadows only made him feel more alone.

“Shiro, the results rarely lie,” whispered Allura.

“I must say that Allura is most correct.” Coran moved to sit on the other side. “We’ve used a mixture of both Altean and Earthling technology, even double-checked and triple-checked, because – you know – can’t be _too_ careful about this kind of thing, but it’s been the same every darned time. There’s just no two ways about it, lad . . . you’re pregnant.”

Shiro raised his hands to his face. He dug the pads of his thumbs into the corners of his eyes, as he tried to stave of terrified tears, but the choked breaths came and so too did the familiar burning in his throat, and he struggled to keep calm. There was a deafening beat of his heart within his ears. There was a sense of the world spinning around him. The room began to blur, while the objects within doubled, and his head grew light and filled with a strange sensation, almost as if sleep were coming to him while still awake. He wept despite their presence.

Allura guided his head between his legs, as she rubbed soothing circles on his back. It helped fight back the panic attack, just enough that kept him from fainting, but soon the side of his neck and head felt . . . numb. There was a sensation like ants crawling over his skin, enough that he wanted to claw at his flesh, and his hands were crippled with pins-and-needles, as his fingers moved of their own accord. They closed and clenched, despite his wishes.

There was a low mumbling from Coran, who talked at length about everything and nothing, and – as he hoped to distract Shiro – it only brought back vague memories during the war, when they lost so many people and when he suffered as a prisoner. He drew in a long and staggered breath, unaware of how much time passed. A glance to the clock revealed nearly a full twenty minutes had gone by in a blink of an eye, as if time had ceased to exist, and – as he looked about the room – he realised the overwhelming fear stayed with him.

“You don’t understand,” begged Shiro. “This is impossible!”

“I will admit to not quite understanding about your gender dynamics,” said Allura. “That being said, it seems to be that your omega people need to take the same precautions as our Altean women. Do you think perhaps your contraception failed? If you were sick when you took the pill, it could have interfered with how it was absorbed by your system.”

“Look, I’m telling you both: I can’t be pregnant.” Shiro dug his hands into his hair. “I – I haven’t had sex since I was on the Galra ship! Matt is still a virgin; we were going to wait until we were mated, and he wanted to mate on our wedding day. He’s . . . old-fashioned.”

“Ah, I do miss old-fashioned family values,” chirped Coran. “They aren’t without their issues, of course, like my old friend back when my grandfather was designing the castle! Oh, it was such good times! The only trouble was that someone – for _some_ strange reason – told him that you couldn’t get pregnant if you had sex in the ocean, and the very next week we found out that he had moved away. Pregnant, would you believe it? Well, of course you –”

Shiro raised a hand to silence Coran. The older man gave a sympathetic glance over him, before he clapped a hand on his shoulder and promised to double-check again, and soon he walked across the room to sit behind his desk. He pulled out the appropriate medical records, both on paper and on screen, and looked them over with an absolute sincerity and total concentration. There was an awkward silence between them. It was obvious they didn’t believe him, which only turned his panic into frustration. He clenched his prosthetic fist.

“I’m telling you both that we didn’t have sex,” said Shiro in a cold voice. “One of us was always clothed with anything that involved below-the-belt stuff, and – even then – we used contraception just to be a hundred percent safe. Matt . . . this is embarrassing . . . Matt used condoms, as – ah – neither one of us wanted a mess. I’ve been taking my pill like clockwork, too, so there’s just _no way_ a pregnancy could be on the cards. None.”

Shiro ran his hands over his face. It was an embarrassing conversation in which to participate, one he hoped to never have with anyone except his alpha, but there he was – forced to defend his private and sexual choices – to prove that he wasn’t pregnant. There was some noise from outside the infirmary; Shiro caught shadows on the misted glass of the door, while laughter rang out from what sounded like a group of cadets, and he half-suspected that lunchtime was in progress. He had lost his appetite. Allura broke his distraction with a soft question:

“What about your heat?”

He gave a long sigh, as he stood up and tried to remain on his feet. He still felt woozy and disorientated, while the room moved only slightly in his vision, and he started to pace back and forth with a growing sense of absolute anger. The view outside was beautiful; he could see across the desert landscape to what may have been Keith’s shack, another building that may have been the Holt home, and he swallowed hard in fear. He had no idea how he would explain this misunderstanding to Matt, as even Allura would not believe him. Shiro asked:

“What about my heat?”

“You went into heat early, yes?” Allura gave a warm smile. “Why don’t we check the security footage from that time? It’s entirely possible that Matt gave into a rut, perhaps – if your heat was so severe – you simply . . . forgot . . . unlikely as that may be, I will admit. Still, it could be worth a look. I’m sure we can explain this with little issue.”

“No,” muttered Shiro. “ _No_! I remember when I went into the heat. I was with Keith in my office when it happened, I was drinking some coffee, and he took me straight back to my room. He locked the door afterwards, so no one would . . . they wouldn’t . . .”

“Is everything alright, old chap?” Coran asked.

Shiro felt the strength drain from his body. It was like a cold wave of water being poured over his body, so that every inch it travelled stole warmth from him, and soon his stomach gave a sharp stab of pain so that he doubled over. Coran and Allura were immediately on their feet. They furrowed their brows and said a few words. Shiro heard nothing; he simply ran through to the _en suite_ of the infirmary, where he collapsed before the toilet and threw up.

The taste of acid and bile brought with it the taste of breakfast, a hint of coffee and some fried eggs from the cafeteria, and he realised – with another retch of his stomach – the coffee had been where his memory grew hazy during his heat. There was a rush of sensations . . . memories . . . fleeting images neither fact not fantasy. He looked down into the bowl, where he felt tears rise to his eyes and blur the waste liquid from sight, and slowly began to choke back the heavy realisation from his mind. He could feel it afresh, see it anew . . .

. . . _‘I know what you need’ . . . cool air on hot skin, so much a small comfort, clothes stripped from his body . . . pleasure . . . a mouth on his parts, images of Matt, but then – no – the haze fades, Keith comes into view . . . confusion . . . conflict . . . momentary pain . . ._

. . . Shiro found himself seated in Coran’s office chair. He stared up at the ceiling, as the cool leather pressed against the back of his neck, and he felt a pressure upon his middle finger and his upper arm. Allura recited some numbers, as the pressures were removed. A hand was waved in front of his face, covered in white material, and Shiro – shaken from his daze – looked to see Allura knelt beside him and Coran standing before him. Coran pushed a glass of water into his organic hand, telling Shiro to sip and not swig, as he gave a nervous smile.

The water tasted slightly strange; there was a taste of blackcurrant, along with something metallic, and Allura whispered – on seeing his expression – there were added electrolytes and vitamins to replenish what was lost. He watched as the water vibrated. It was difficult to refrain from shaking, as he took a few long sips, and soon he placed the glass down upon the desk with a solid slam that sounded out across the room. Shiro swallowed hard.

“I remember the heat,” he whispered.

“That’s good,” said Allura. “What do you remember?”

“I – that is – I think –.” Shiro shook his head with a sigh. “I think someone may have . . . drugged me. It – It induced my heat early, messed with my head, but I remember them in my room and what they . . . did . . . I – I can’t believe I even forgot! I can’t believe . . . I let someone else _touch_ me . . . _use_ me . . . I fucking looked him in the face every day after! I looked my damned rapist in the face, but I didn’t even _know_ it . . . I didn’t even . . .”

“Oh, Shiro. Try not to blame yourself; these drugs can have powerful effects, with memories almost always being the first thing affected, and it would be impossible to fight back. You’re not at fault, I can assure you. Now we can move forward. Get justice for the act.”

“Well, that is _a_ priority, yes,” muttered Coran. “I’m personally – well – a _teensy_ more concerned about Shiro’s mental health. This is one heck of a trauma, I must say. I would probably insist on speaking with a counsellor, maybe one that specialises in sexual assaults, and also working out how you want to proceed – ah – _vis-à-vis_ on the pregnancy.”

“I’m not reporting the attack,” snapped Shiro. “I’m not keeping the child.”

“You’re not reporting the attack?” Allura asked.

Shiro glanced to the computer. The medical records brought up on the screen his alone, each note a marker of his past in glorious detail, and he felt a sickening realisation that soon ‘sexually assaulted’ would probably stain some part of an otherwise perfect page. He struggled to think how victims could become survivors, as if this wasn’t something that would stay with them forever, and the feeling of betrayal was heavy in his heart.

He raised a hand to his chest, where he tried to rub at the muscle. The fabric of his shirt moved with the touch, so that friction brought small remembrances, and the sense of violation came back stronger than ever. Shiro quickly dropped his hand. He struggled to hold back tears; Allura reached out to take his hand, where she squeezed as tight as possible to ground him, and Coran – with eyes soft and half-closed – leaned against the desk and looked to the side with a distant kind of expression. Shiro swallowed hard and gave a long sigh.

“I _can’t_ report the attack,” he said. “I just can’t.”

Coran looked back to him, before he looked to Allura. The young woman gave a clear pout, as her lips pressed together and her eyebrows furrowed in a knot, and it was clear that she sought to hold her tongue on the matter. It took a slight squeeze of Coran’s eyes – as he made a sign only known to Allura – for her expression to soften, as if the gaze of her husband expressed something far deeper than it seemed to an outsider, and soon her grip softened and her eyes looked down. There was a flush to her cheeks and sadness to her eyes.

“Is it someone we know?” Allura asked.

“I thought I knew him,” said Shiro. “I thought I did.”

“I’ll ask Iverson for a copy of the security tapes,” chirped Coran. “They – er – may not prove too much on their own, but they’ll prove an awful lot when combined with the child’s DNA, supposing you decide to birth them . . . all just in case, mind! You don’t have to report them today – even at all – but best to have the evidence around, just in case, eh?”

“Yes, but what if they hurt someone else?” Allura asked.

“They won’t,” spat Shiro. “Trust me.”

He reached a hand down to his stomach. There was a small lump, almost like holiday weight-gain, and yet there was firmness to the muscle that spoke of something more than just laziness, as he rubbed light circles upon the skin. It was strange to think the one thing he wanted more than anything, something he spent nights planning with Matt, could instead be twisted into a dark reminder of a trauma his mind had previously repressed. The foetus inside him was an abomination, something created from unholy and unlawful union.

“Are you safe, Shiro?”

Allura’s voice woke him from his reprieve. He looked to her and saw genuine concern, which was enough to bring a small smile to his face. The lights continued to swing from above, while the breeze kept on blowing through the window, and he realised – despite his personal traumas – the world continued on around him. Shiro reached out to her and squeezed her hand, which enabled her to place her other hand over his with a reassuring sound.

“I’ll be fine,” promised Shiro.

“Are you sure?” Allura took a deep breath. “You are more than welcome to stay with us; we could also alert Hunk, Pidge and Lance to the situation, if necessary, should you think that you need extra protection. There are also ways to detect date-rape drugs, such as nail varnishes that change colour when dipped into drinks or –”

“No, honestly. I doubt he would have done it, if I hadn’t been in my pre-heat. Those drugs always induce a heat in omega, _always_ , so it’s just too risky to use them at any other time, and . . . well . . . I won’t be going into another heat for a damned long time, will I?”

“I think I’ll feel better with some extra security,” interrupted Coran. “I think I’ll have a word with Iverson; we don’t have to name any names, not if you don’t want to, lad, but it could help that he knows that an assault at least _did_ happen. If not for your sake, but for the sake of the next person who falls victim to bad security. It could be we could have cameras constantly watched, so there’s always someone to see when someone’s in trouble or –”

“You can tell him what you want,” snapped Shiro. “Just no names?”

“Well, I’d have to give _your_ name, but no . . . no other names.”

Coran gave that telling smile, as he pulled up a couple of chairs. The two Alteans sat by Shiro, so that Coran sat opposite and Allura just to his left, and there a great comfort in being surrounded by trustworthy friends. There was a sound of someone rattling the doorknob to the infirmary, clearly ignoring the ‘closed’ sign and a note to the emergency number, and Shiro smiled at the students’ ‘just in case’ attitude. Coran broke the silence with a hushed:

“What about the – er – baby?”

“It’s probably too late to abort, isn’t it?” Shiro asked.

“If you were a beta or alpha woman, I would be content to abort at this stage.” Coran twirled his moustache in a somewhat nervous manner. “You must realise how dangerous an abortion can be after the two-month mark for an omega, yes? Well, the ultrasound places you firmly at four months. You’re only four weeks short of the absolute limitation, too.”

“So – So he didn’t just force me into sex, but he forced me into carrying his child? I can’t do this, Coran! How am I supposed to ask Matt for help? He had no part in making this child, but he’s supposed to act as a parent to them? What if he leaves me? Oh God, if I have this child, don’t I owe them at least a _minimum_ of a good life? How am I supposed to explain to them how this happened? Why they can’t meet their biological father? No. I can’t do this!”

“There are other options, Shiro.” There was a forced smile from Coran. “You could consider foster-care, until you feel ready to take full custody, or there’s always adoption. There’s open adoption, closed adoption . . . you could ask family or friends to take guardianship, or give the child to a stranger to raise, so you wouldn’t have to see them. There are options.”

“Adoption? I like the idea of that . . . I – I need time to make a decision, but I think that’s the best option. The child would get a good home, where they’d never have to know the truth, and I could give a childless couple a chance to be happy. What about . . . you two?”

“Allura and I?” Coran rapidly blinked. “What about us?”

“Would you two be willing to adopt them?”

There was an instant smile upon Coran’s face. It made his moustache rustle, as his cheeks flushed a bright pink, and his eyes gave their familiar twinkle. The smile faltered when the initial excitement made way for the realisation that this was joy borne from pain, and – with an instant frown and saddened eyes – Coran looked to his wife and focussed upon her reaction. The expression she wore was equally as conflicted, filled with various emotions.

It was a strange silence between them, as both of them looked to one another and tried to ascertain whether they could speak on the other’s behalf, and – with a great deal of intimacy – an array of subtle gestures passed between them, expressing more in silence than words could ever convey. They soon turned to look at Shiro, who struggled to control his breathing and keep his nausea under control, and yet he looked between them for some desperate sign of acknowledgement or support. He needed them to take the child. A stranger felt wrong.

“I think we would need to discuss it first,” said Allura.

“That’s quite right! There are a lot of various pros and cons.” Coran blushed and continued: “I think I’d be quite for adopting the wee one, but everyone has to be certain what that would entail. You need to be _certain_ you’re willing to give up all legal rights to the child, while we need to be _positive_ we can provide for the child and do you proud. We’d need to set up a common-ground, too, make sure we all have the same ground rules.”

“We’ve always had such difficulty conceiving,” admitted Allura with a blush. “I would love a child more than anything, but it is because of that I realise the pain in giving one up, whether that be giving up the idea of them or the actuality of them. I must insist you take a few weeks to consider in full, Shiro, but – rest assured – we will help you however we are able.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Shiro, “this is _your_ child. I don’t to look at them every day and resent them for what isn’t their fault . . . I’d rather look at them and know they were a gift to you, something that brought you more joy than ever imagined. That’s all.”

“Just promise us you’ll take a few weeks to consider it.”

“I promise, but my mind won’t change.”

There was a knock at the door. It sent a shiver through Shiro’s spine, as he looked over to the door and then up at the clock just above, and – as he tried to discern an identity through frosted glass – he realised just how much of his friends’ time had been taken. The knocking was soon followed by a familiar voice: Keith. It was a simple ‘hey’, but the sound chilled Shiro to the bone. He reached out to Allura, desperate for something to ground him.

Coran moved to open the door.

The next few moments passed in a blur; time moved at an insane speed, as Shiro began to hyperventilate and struggled to stay calm, and – when the door opened to reveal Keith – he felt his last ounce of self-control break away. He wept. Keith immediately made to run to his side, but Allura stood before him with arms outstretched and Coran held Keith back and slammed the door shut behind him. The youngest man looked confused. Dazed.

Keith held a fire in his eyes. He clenched his fists, fingers showing through fingerless gloves, and clenched his teeth until the tension was clear in his jaw. It could almost be interpreted as brotherly concern, were it not for the fact that Shiro remembered . . . _he remembered_. He could feel the touches over his skin . . . he could hear the panting breath in his ear . . . it was as if he were living it all over again. Shiro shot out a hand to grab onto Allura’s dress, too disorientated to care that he was close to her buttocks, and tried to calm down.

“Iverson said my brother was sick?” Keith asked.

Allura reached behind herself to take a hold of Shiro’s hand. It was a struggle to pry it away from her dress, as he gripped with strength he barely knew himself capable, but the very touch instantly calmed him and helped to ease his breathing to a slower speed. Keith tried to move forward again, but Coran pressed a hand to his chest and held him back. The whole situation had Shiro on edge. The tears began to sting his eyes, while he grew dizzy and disorientated being confronted by his rapist. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide.

“What happened to him?” Keith looked around. “Is he okay?”

“He’s – ah – fine,” chirped Coran. “Perfectly good!”

“No, he’s _not_ fine,” said Shiro in a strained voice. “I’m pregnant, Keith. I’m four months pregnant and – thanks to being an omega – I can’t abort without risking my fertility at best and my life at worst. _I’m fucking pregnant_. I have this – this – this _thing_ inside of me!”

Keith took a step backward. The expression on his face paled, before it sunk into something akin to absolute sadness, and – as Shiro squeezed Allura’s hand – he could see the way Keith tried to move away from Coran. It was no secret the younger man was averse to physical touches, often only able to show the remotest of intimacy with his older brother, and now he appeared to retreat into himself. Keith soon forced a smile and asked with a strain:

“I bet Matt is thrilled, though, right?”

There was a tense silence within the room. The quiet was broken by a student opening the door a crack, as they complained about a minor ailment, and Coran – with a strained expression – muttered that they couldn’t skip class and shooed them away. They stood and sat for a long moment in absolute quiet. Shiro could hear his heart race in his ears, while his mouth ran dry and he tasted tears on his lips, and he realised that Keith assumed what everyone else assumed: the baby was Matt’s. Shiro shook his head with a shuddered breath.

“It’s not Matt’s,” he spat.

“I guess that explains why you seem upset.” Keith ran a hand through his hair. “Shiro, you have to tell me what’s going on. You’re my _brother_ ; if someone’s hurt you, tell me and I’ll make sure they _never_ hurt you again, and if you cheated on Matt -? I won’t judge you. I could never judge you for anything you do. You’re my hero. I love you.”

“Keith, I just -!” Shiro shook his head through his tears. “They know. _I know_ , Keith. Look, I just need you to know that nothing leaves this room . . . _nothing_.   You’re my brother, so I won’t see you arrested or worse for this, but my responsibility ends there. This is over.”

“You – I – you mean -?” Keith gave a strange smile. “It’s . . . mine?”

“No, it’s _theirs_. I’m giving the child up for adoption.”

Keith’s expression faltered. He looked to Shiro with an expression of horror; it reminded him of when they were children, a year or so before their mother passed away, and Keith would slip into his room and complain about the bogeyman. It had been so easy to settle him with kind words, as he slid into the bed and cuddled up next to his big brother, only now Keith had become the very thing he feared most as a child. He was the monster others feared.

There was something dark in those blue-grey eyes, something beyond the hero-worship and deep affection that Shiro always saw present, and he realised – after all that time – his brother had clung to him like a lifeline. Keith was afraid of abandonment. They lost their parents, while Keith had always struggled to make friends, and then was kicked out of the Garrison once he believed Shiro was dead. It was fear. That half-covered hand lifted a clenched fist, which barely hid the deep tremors, and his lip trembled with growing tears.

“Whoa, Shiro! You can’t just –”

“Keith, listen to me,” said Shiro. “I’m going to give this child to Allura and Coran, if they decide to keep it, or I’ll ask Iverson or someone else instead. If you _try_ to fight for parental rights -? They’ll know it was rape. There’s security footage of you taking me into my room, there’s the child’s DNA, and there’d be my testimony . . . you know I couldn’t lie under oath. You’d end up in prison, losing all rights anyway. It’d just take longer, prolonging my pain.”

“Look, this doesn’t have to end badly, right?” Keith tried to step forward, before being pushed back by Coran. “We could raise him together, but I’d just be ‘uncle’, you know? I’d be happy as just the uncle, honestly. You could also raise him with Matt. I won’t claim to be happy with that, but it’s better than just _giving_ away our –”

“There is no ‘our’. There is no ‘we’! You’re my brother . . . you were the person I trusted with my life! You were what kept me alive during my time on the Galra ship. You were the person who I wanted as my second-in-command for Voltron. Now? Now, we’re nothing.”

“You – You can’t say that, Shiro! You can’t say that we’re -!”

“Just go, Keith. Go before I decide to report you.”

Keith opened and closed his mouth. He looked to Allura and Coran, before he let his eyes fall upon Shiro, and Shiro – unable to look at him – simply turned away. It was difficult to see his brother in pain, even after all that was done to him, and so he simply squinted his eyes shut and tried to stave off more tears. He listened to Keith, as he tried to come forward one last time, only to be held back by Coran. A moment later, he left through the door.

There was a soft click as the door shut, followed by a slight bang, as if Keith had kicked or struck at the wall beside it with some anger, and the sound – against every ounce of self-control in Shiro’s body – sent a jolt of fear through his frame. Allura was at once by his side, while Coran simply stood there with body almost limp, and the energy felt drained from each and every one of them. There was a hand upon the back of his neck, followed by soft words with gentle gestures, but the reality of the situation began to sink into his mind.

Shiro wept.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“You made it,” chirped Shiro.

He looked at Coran with a smile. The older man sat on the lawn chair beside him, where Shiro – covered in blankets, as he reclined on the _chaise longue_ – let his head roll to the side, so that he could take his friend in full. Coran looked exhausted; there were bags under those light-coloured eyes, while his skin was pale and a few yawns escaped his mouth, but somehow he looked happier than Shiro could ever recall during their time together.

The baby rested well in Coran’s arms, so that her head rested against his chest. A gloved hand came up to support head and neck, while a tuft of black hair could be seen just over those long and elegant fingers, and Shiro noticed how the baby looked so comfortable swaddled in various blue cloths. Each time she gave a soft blink, those blue-grey eyes would show and look around with a surprising awareness. Those cheeks were so plump and round, a little red despite how the skin-tone was surprisingly alike Shiro, and he gave a small chuckle.

It was a bizarre sensation.

This was a child borne from him, whose genetics he shared, and yet they belonged to another person – another couple – and there was a sense of detachment. He loved her, just as he would love any child of his best friends, but it wasn’t _his_ child and with that came a blessed sense of relief that threatened to overwhelm him. It was easier to love the child knowing he was not responsible for them, easier to care for them knowing he would not be burdened with them, and so easier to see them as a blessing for bring Coran and Allura such joy.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Coran.

“I’m glad you came. I was starting to get lonely by myself.”

“Ah, now, don’t you start that!” Coran smiled and gave a wink. “I’ll have you know that Allura and I have stopped by at least once a day in this past week, which was a chore and a half, I’ll add! Oh, you don’t know what these sleepless nights are like. I think I’ll get a _wee_ bit o’ sleep, then suddenly -? Bam! The little one decides to wake up.”

Shiro gave a long laugh. It caused a wave of pain to cross over his stomach, so his expression changed into something half-grimace and half-smile, as he rolled onto his back and pulled the blankets up to his chin with a muttered snigger of amusement. He glanced across the patio to the garden beyond; there were waves of hedgerows and patterned segments of flowerbeds, all designed to Altean standards of beauty, and – as he looked – he saw Matt with Allura.

The Altean couple lacked a large garden, confined to a large apartment in the main town, and so this had become a gift to Allura and the one place where she could feel at ‘home’. Allura knelt down in a beautiful dress, which moved elegantly with her body, as her hands stretched out to touch the petals of her favourite flowers, and Matt – with a broad grin and a watering can in hand – talked to her about the latest changes and additions. There were a few splashes of water, as he struggled to hold it without fidgeting with his hands, but Allura simply gazed onward to the flowers with a constant stream of chatter. The two seemed good friends.

“Matt did say you stopped by,” admitted Shiro.

“You were asleep every time,” observed Coran. “I always heard omega births were more taxing, but I wouldn’t have believed it until I saw it myself. I came up alone a couple of days ago, as Allura needed to take Hope to an appointment, and I must say that I’ve never seen a chap look so pale! I’m simply glad to see you with a bit more colour. You even look a _teensy_ bit better, too, which is quite a relief! More like a person and like a talking thumb.”

“Please, don’t make me laugh.” Shiro clenched at his stomach, as he held back laughter. “It still hurts when I do anything too strenuous, which apparently includes bodily functions like laughing or sneezing. The doctor said it would be about six weeks before I fully heal?”

“That sounds about right, lad. The bleeding should stop around then, too. If – ah – you and Matt decide to conceive, which I doubt will be soon with the engagement only just announced, but still – just to be safe – I’d say to give it a full year. It’s always best to give your body as long as possible to rest, especially if you want to start a family.”

Hope gave a murmur of discomfort. Coran began to make a noise awfully like a snake, although he gave a warm and loving smile to her, and – with extremely careful movements – changed her position so she was instead cradled to his chest, with her ear over his heart. It still amazed Shiro how small a newborn looked, nothing like television; he remembered when the nurse offered him to hold her, nearly forcing her into his arms, and how he refused even despite his drug-induced stupor. He felt grateful, as even now he was too scared to hold her.

The initial fear had been of growing attached, but now he saw how fragile was Hope. It was a beautiful sight; tiny hands were clenched into tiny fists, each finger almost like something alien and so unlike an adult, and she almost seemed to fit into one of Coran’s hands. He wondered how Coran adjusted to holding her without fear, as a part of Shiro worried that – when the time came to have a child of his own – he would lack the courage to hold them.

“How has she been?” Shiro asked.

“Ah, she’s been settling in wonderfully.” Coran leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I will say that she sleeps an awful lot, but always seems to wake when it’s night! The little scamp! I swear the only time she cries is when we put her down.”

“I’m sure it’s because she knows how much her parents love her,” said Shiro with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to be away from people who love me, either. I swear it physically hurts any time that Matt leaves the room; he swears it’s just hormones, but I’m starting to think maybe it’s something more. I’m going to see a counsellor, just to be on the safe side.”

“Oh, I imagine that’s quite natural. You went through quite the trauma, and then had to go through the pain of childbirth and make a very difficult decision about that child, and now – well, _yes_ – hormones are coursing through you . . . adding to that . . . I don’t think I would have coped much better. Shall I be honest with you, lad? I still cry myself to sleep some nights just thinking about our lost Altea. I would be hysterical in your shoes.”

“They keep telling me how strong I am, but I feel like I’m breaking inside. The counsellor helped a lot to process what happened to me, plus Matt’s been a godsend, but I look in the mirror – or see an old photograph of Keith – and suddenly it’s like I can _feel_ his hands on me all over again. I don’t know if I can go back to the Garrison. I can’t face him.”

“Ah . . . well . . . I see Iverson hasn’t told you yet, then.”

Shiro noticed the frown to Coran’s features. That moustache bristled and moved with a twitch of his nose, while he busied himself by laying his newborn daughter upon his lap, and soon his violet eyes watched her with a warm smile that brightened his cheeks. A gloved hand rested upon her stomach, to support her and prevent her from falling, while the other smoothed and stroked patterns through her black hair. Shiro swallowed hard, as he felt his heart begin to race and curled up beneath the blankets. He asked in a quiet voice:

“Told me what?”

There was a low sigh from Coran, who chanced a glance over to his wife. Allura stood with Matt nearby the barbeque, which was at the other side of the patio. The patio was a large space, just underneath the decking that was adjacent to the house, and the conservatory wrapped around the side behind Shiro as a prominent feature. It was good fortune that Matt had saved throughout the years, while Shiro’s position paid well, as such a house with large lands should have been beyond their means. Shiro smiled despite himself.

Matt struggled to work the barbeque. It was up to Allura to squat down in a rather unfeminine manner, as she placed hands on her hips and fiddled about with various dials and knobs, before a flame erupted from the top and caused Matt to jump back with a squeal. Shiro held back from laughter, as his hands squeezed against his stomach to support the muscle, before he began to hope that Allura would take charge of the cooking process.

The moment was broken with a short cough from Coran, which reminded Shiro of the issue at hand, even despite the many distractions. The lawn-chairs and patio table were purposely placed close to the decking and in front of the conservatory, so that the breeze was unable to reach Shiro and the sunlight was magnified through the glass, and yet a chill ran through his body. Shiro shuddered and pursed his lips, as he sought to wet them and stave off the dry sensation. Coran eventually tore his eyes away from his daughter, as he looked to Shiro.

“Keith was expelled the day you went into labour,” said Coran.

Shiro blinked away his surprise, as he opened and closed his mouth. He glanced over to Allura who was busy tending to the barbeque, while Matt chopped salad on an adjacent table and talked endlessly to her with great ease, and he wondered who else knew the news. Shiro drew in a deep breath and clenched his hands around the arms of the long-chair, as he looked up to the sky above and attempted to count the clouds that passed them by in a blur.

“Expelled? Again?”

“It’s – er – still very hush-hush,” explained Coran. “I was asked to give him an assessment, but I’m no specialist in mental health. Iverson said not to worry you while you were on maternity leave, wants you to focus on getting back to full health, but – well – wouldn’t want you to refuse to come back on grounds that no longer apply, eh?”

“Let me guess . . . he went down in flames, exactly the same way as when he thought I’d died on the Kerberos mission? I – I need one of you to check the shack. I know Keith; he doesn’t have any stray hopes or conspiracy theories this time, nothing to obsess over, he –”

“Hunk and Lance offered to stay with him,” interrupted Coran.

The sudden silence was enough to shock Shiro. He gave a visible flinch, as he blinked his eyes to clear his vision, and then ran a hand over his face in awkward surprise. The blankets fell about his waist, revealing skin-tight clothes that highlighted a recent pouch of weight on his stomach, but – overall – he knew it would not be long before exercise fixed his appearance, allowing him to regain the abs he lost to childbirth.

“Well, that’s good,” said Shiro. “That’s good.”

There was a short cry from Hope, who gave a pout and reddened in her cheeks. It was a strange expression, one that nearly caused Shiro some concern, until there came a hideous stench that reminded him of Coran’s more ‘traditional’ cuisine back in the castle. Coran gave no sign of a reaction. He simply sighed and placed Hope onto the table, before he changed the young baby and disinfected the table afterward, and soon – with a quick run of Matt, who was ever the perfect host – the bundle of waste was whisked away to be disposed.

“Have you been in touch?” Coran asked.

The question broke Shiro’s concentration. He looked to Coran, who bounced baby Hope in his arms against his chest, and – with gentle rhythmic movements of his hand – lulled her into a sleep by rubbing patterns upon her back. The older man leaned down to draw in a deep scent of her hair, which caused Coran to give a wide smile, and Shiro simply smiled in turn, before his eyes fell back across the garden to Matt. Already, there was a rich aroma of various meats and vegetables being grilled, along with freshly baked bread.

“No.” Shiro gave a long sigh. “Keith tried; there were emails, letters, phone calls . . . eventually, he just stopped contacting me. I thought I’d miss it, you know? We’ve been together daily since we were born, even in the Garrison we spoke daily, but now -? I just feel relieved. I love him, but I . . . don’t. I – I don’t know how to feel, truth be told.”

“I imagine that’s natural.” Coran gave a warm smile. “There can be no undoing the trauma that took place, but that equally does not undo the decades of love and loyalty that led up to the trauma. In fact, one could say it’s more traumatic _for_ the betrayal.”

“I think that’s the problem. I can’t stop loving him; he’s my brother, Coran, someone I helped raised when our parents died, and I still want what’s best for him. I just -! How can you hurt someone you claim to love so much? I don’t know what I did to deserve that. I don’t know why he wouldn’t come to me with what he felt . . . maybe I could have helped him . . . I – I can’t forgive him for this, though. I just can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

Shiro ran a hand over his face. The blankets began to feel claustrophobic; he pushed them across his body and to the side of the long-chair, as his body began to relish in the cool air, and – as he looked up to the sky above – remembered the times where he would count the clouds with Keith as a child. It was difficult to believe that the boy he helped raised and loved could become the monster he feared, and yet a part of him still cared for his younger sibling, even as the wind whisked the clouds away and allowed shadows to play about his features.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I hear he’s doing fine,” said Coran. “He’s running odd jobs as a mechanic, making ends meet the same way when he was expelled the first time. Apparently, he made enough of a success the first time around to be self-sufficient. Have faith in the chap!”

They sat in an amiable silence. Shiro let his hand fall to his stomach, where he let his fingers move over the soft skin and small lump, and – with half-lidded eyes and a half-pulled smile – he gave a long sigh and looked across to Matt and Allura. The two were laying out a long foldout table full of plates and cups, along with large bowls of meats and vegetables and salads ready for people to pick from at will. The bread in particular was a strong temptation, along with the various cheeses, and Shiro felt a tug of reluctance at walking across to help himself. Coran stood and stretched backward, careful to hold Hope to his chest.

“Will you invite him to the wedding?”

“No,” admitted Shiro. “I don’t think I could bear to look at him. I love him and wish him well, but . . . I just want to move on with my life. I see what joy Hope brings you, and – honestly – I want the same thing from life. I just want to make things official with Matt, maybe try for a child of our own, and move forward from the past.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you!” Coran gave a soft nod of acknowledgement. “I never thought we’d survive the war, let alone succeed and bring about the Voltron Alliance, but here we are and there it is . . . _peace_. You’ll be happy, lad. I know you will.”

“Thanks, Coran. That means more than I can say.”

Shiro opened his mouth to speak, until he saw Allura and Matt. They came over with extra plates, each loaded with their partner’s favourite foods, and Shiro – taking the plate with a great sense of gratitude from his fiancé – strove to hold back the tears. He moved to the side, as he made room for Matt to sit beside him, and relished in the heat of his alpha, who threw an arm over him and pulled him close into a half-embrace. It felt good to be together.

They sat together and found a sense of peace. Allura sat beside a nearby table, where she was gently given their daughter to hold and cherish, and – as she struggled to multi-task feeding herself and holding the baby – Coran promised to be right back. The three of them chatted between themselves, until Coran returned with a warmed bottle of baby-milk, and gently handed it to Allura with a kiss to her forehead. It was a beautiful sight. Shiro envied them for all the new memories they would make together, as well as the new life ahead of them.

Coran took his seat beside Matt and Shiro, while Matt ran his hands through Shiro’s hair in a way that felt both affectionate and relaxed him. The trauma ran deep, but it was easy to forget in those moments surrounded by family and friends, and he simply listened to them talk and breathe and eat with a warm smile. They were sounds that merged together, until he closed his eyes and felt himself drifting away into a deep slumber.

“You’ll be fine,” promised Coran. “I promise.”

Shiro smiled. He believed him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
